If you live in the Northern Rivers chances are you’re going to fly into or out of Brisbane at some point.  On behalf of our readers, Verandah Magazine’s Georgina Bible explores the Novotel Hotel – and finds it a perfect spot for preparation or recuperation…

Due to flight scheduling for a recent overseas trip, I needed to stay near the airport in Brisbane for two nights, one pre-flight and one post flight and decided to book a room at the Novotel Brisbane Airport for its location – it’s the only hotel located in the Brisbane Airport precinct.  But I admit it was with certainly reservations – with sterile lobbies, generic furniture and underwhelming room service food still lingering in the memory, the last place I wanted to start or end a holiday was in another high turnover hotel room near an airport.   I needn’t have worried.

The appeal of the Novotel begins in the lobby with its vast, light-filled space completed by a huge atrium style roof that extends six floors. Check-in is friendly and efficient and there is a screen above the reception desk showing live flight information. Opening onto the lobby is the Catalina Restaurant – a large space with an open kitchen – and a 24-hour business centre.

The Novotel features standard rooms, premier rooms and executive suites. I booked a standard king room – the décor is stylish with its warm blend of earth tones accentuated with bright coloured pillows and black and white photography. The bed is enormous and there’s a pillow menu for those who prefer a choice. The room features a large flat screen TV with cable channels, a couch, coffee table and desk, as well as complimentary tea and coffee. The bathroom feels sleek with its over-sized white tiles, marble topped vanity and timber finishes. I slept well on both stays – the double glazing on the windows keeping out noise from the airport and nearby road.

The only downside was the cost of the Wi-Fi, $12.50 for 2 hours or $24.95 per 24 hours. The room also lacks a bathtub, but the rooftop relaxation terrace was the perfect antidote for a tired body. The heated swimming pool is stunning, featuring deep glass windows and views across Brisbane. A gym and sauna is also located on the roof – the gym is open 24 hours, perfect for weary travellers arriving at all hours of the day and night.

For my pre-flight stay, I chose to eat at the Catalina Restaurant, which features modern Australian cuisine and a stylish bar with separate lounge area. The Atlantic salmon, pickled potato salad, wilted Asian greens ($33), did not disappoint. I followed it with the French apple tart, lavender ice cream, honeycomb, vanilla crème anglaise ($15), perfect for those with a super-sweet tooth.

My flight back to Brisbane arrived late but I was able to catch the hotel shuttle, available at limited times morning and evening with a $5 charge (cash only). Check-in was once again seamless but with jetlag creeping in, I decided to choose something from the room service menu for both dinner and breakfast the following morning. The entrée sized pan fried potato gnocchi with asparagus, walnuts, mushrooms and cherry tomatoes ($19) was just the right amount before going  to bed. I woke up in a stupor of jetlag but knowing that breakfast was being delivered to my room was as much of a relief as the actual breakfast. I settled on field mushrooms with sourdough bread ($11.50) with freshly squeezed orange juice ($7.50), which turned out to be a bit of a jetlag cure.

The Novotel hits all the right notes  – comfortable, clean rooms, decent food and enough distractions to while away the hours before a big flight, making it an ideal place for anyone needing to stay near Brisbane Airport.

 Georgina Bible stayed at the hotel at her own expense.

The Novotel Brisbane Airport is located at 6-8 The Circuit, Brisbane Airport, Queensland. The hotel is 2.6km from Brisbane International and 4.8km from Brisbane Domestic. For more details, phone (07) 31753100 or visit novotelbrisbaneairport.com.au Standard Twin/King Room start from $259 per night but are subject to seasonal variation – check with the hotel.

Highlights: Don’t miss the stunning roof top swimming pool or the nearby Direct Factory Outlet, featuring more than 120 brands from Australia and around the world.

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It was early summer and the cobblestones were cool in Florence and Bologna, great for a few cheeky reds and gnocchi in never-to-be-found-again backstreets. Elba turned on a  citrus sun with cypress pines serrated along the ridgelines; half-fastened zips in the blue lining of the sky. The beach was all honey-baked-ham tans and a great advertisement for the homogeneity of Italian life where I got the impression that everybody was simply thinking about what’s for dinner. And, delightfully, it was the same in northern Spain where I headed next to start a mere 1000km stroll from Irun to Santiago on the Camino del Norte.

Irun is in France and the border between it and Spain runs down the middle of a less-than-lovely little river spanned by a bridge in no way resembling anything out of Madison County. Mid-bridge you step over the border, but there is no dotted line that lends itself to photos. Mike Hardy, my traveling companion, and I walked along with the Atlantic on our right and a mountain range on our left which was a nice way to pass a couple of hours before we came to our first town – San Sebastian, which apparently has more Michelin stars than any other place on the planet. It should get some sort of National Geographic star for its location on the Bay of Biscay, which was full of people full of tapas taking the sun in a very civilised way. Mike and I gave the tapas a good workout and did the locals a favour by taking on the local glut of sangiovese while we sat and watched an Irish wedding on the steps of an old, old church; afterwards we strolled the laneways which Hemingway used to habituate when he wasn’t blasting endangered wildlife in Africa. (On the wedding, I just have to say that there is nothing that semaphores self-consciousness more than a linen suit on foreigner abroad.)

Jeff Sampson surveying the scenery before making the all important decision – where to drink next…

From then on it was a charming blur of little farms rampant with figs, kiwifruit, peaches and tomatoes; the Atlantic on its best, bluest behaviour; and little bars for lunch. And this was all in the occasional company of a United Nations of fellow walkers. A lovely twenty-something speech therapist from Heidelberg – who said she felt safer walking with Mike and I –  kept us amused with her translations. We were talking about someone in disguise and she asked “What were they doing in de skies?”. Mike said something would make a lovely photo. Hanna thought he was talking about a “lively Friday”. I remarked to her “Nice little town” which she heard as “Do you want to settle down?”.

A few hills, villages and cafe con leches later, Bilbao appeared. I don´t think there could be any comeback if you recommended this place to even the hardest marker. Old squares and people endlessly eating and drinking red wine at what would be scandalous hours in some Lutheran setting is beyond picturesque. The Guggenheim art museum by Frank Gehry makes the Sydney Opera House look like a snap-together kit, albeit a beautiful one. The only thing that detracted from it was the giant brass spider at the front. It looked like the work of a cryptobiologist with a welder and too much time on his hands. The boulevards were wide, the lifestyle obviously expansive, and the people seemingly friendly, if not forthcoming.

 The beautiful and tranquil Bay of Biscay

Another 42km go under the boots and we stroll into the seaside town of Santander, which had a certain elegant savoir faire. The first beer preached to the converted and talk among the walkers turned to blisters….they have them in places they didn´t previously have places. I considered myself lucky because I had no  peripheral neuropathy or soft tissue trauma to report but to maintain solidarity, I made something up.  We hit the first restaurant we saw and Mike and I both order what we think will be a huge plate of pasta which sadly for us translated to Muscles Marinara. What we got was marinated muscles. The only thing for it was to have the waiter ferry back and forward baskets of yesterday´s baguettes to sop up the sauce. As food faux pas go, it didn’t rate against going with the set menu in a little town further back and getting a big plate of cuttlefish cooked in their own ink. Actually it tasted great but I don´t think a plumber could have happily sat down to it.

After a few days I got  down pat the phrases to get coffee, wine, beer and food, and then tell them it was all muoy bien; although in the Basque region that was about as much use as a butt piercing because they speak Euskotren.

One night Mike and I found ourselves in a little bar  having dinner and watching with about 50 locals the finals of the ‘Rip the head off a dead goose’ contest. It went like this. A boatload of people row up to a dead goose tethered to a very strong rope which has a powerful winch at each end. Someone jumps from the boat and grabs the goose. They have a few quiet moments with the goose before the winches rip them both out of the water to a height of about 7m. The object is to rip the goose´s head off before the tensioning of the rope rips something of your own off.

Our merry band continued to grow and we seemed to have a reputation as fun-lovers. Larry the Canadian even took a train backwards so he could spend the day with us in Santander.  Patrick the French social worker from Bordeaux left us before the end of the trip. We said goodbye to him in the shade of a massive stone arch, the forecourt of a bar, after we bought him a few too many vino tintos. He wanted to tell us about his childhood in Saigon and his Bordeaux caseload.   We did listen empathically, right up until he got out his pack of Lucky Strikes – there’s no stigma to lighting up in Europe. They must shove a cigar rather than a dummy in babies’ mouths over here.

Speaking of smoke, on another olfactory matter, when they store the herbage they harvest from their meadows over here it smells for all the world like Christmas pudding, or a really good fruitcake.  I remarked on this one day to a young German bloke I was walking beside and he said: “To me it just smells like shit, but then again I only ever usually breathe airconditioned air.” There you go. One man’s Christmas pudding is another man’s ….

As we crossed from Basque country to Cantabria there was no more cuttlefish cooked in its own ink on the menu, so I ordered the grilled turbot instead, expecting at 10 euros some discreet, possibly rectilinear, fillet to come out. But I got the whole fish. It was a big plate, and both head and tail hung over the edges. (Food often comes  in Spain with its head still on by the way.)

“One of the numerous picturesque village churches we passed on our walk,” says Jeff Sampson

You tend to get a week’s worth of life in one day here. It´s probably why punters have the odd garden-variety epiphany. They walk for a week and it´s the equivalent of seven weeks in their own company.  No personal miracles for us  yet, but 30km into a 40km walk I did have a vision of a nice glass of dry white and a plate of the calamares fritos I had back in Bilbao.

One morning we were about to leave a perfectly preserved Spanish village – all sun-sucked pink pipe clay rooves and stone-stacked walls – when we came across a cat with its head stuck in a tin of petit pois. Thinking the lid might still be inside and could take all nine lives if we gave the tin a tug, we opted to call a vet. Lucky we had a Spanish speaker in our number for that task. We waited but the vet didn’t arrive so a few of us decided to perform the delicate operation before Moggy suffocated. No lid, thankfully. First one ear popped out, and then the other…and then out came the head and the most dilated pupils I´ve ever seen. It bounded off without giving anyone rabies, and we began our walk for the day feeling virtuous.

In Gijon we started our progressive dinner in a local bar on the seafront. Cider was the drink there – and you aerate it before you drink it by pouring it from arm’s length. After we’d finished, the pub was considering closing the cobbled street because of the risk of some old dear slipping and then sliding into the sea, disappearing beneath the waves with a last exhalation that life had been mouy bien.

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Candida Baker travelled to Carnarvon Gorge in Queensland’s Central Highlands and discovered a hidden world, full of beauty.

Let’s get it out of the way. Carnarvon Gorge is gorgeous. There. Now we can move on.

In all my years in Australia the closest I’d been to the gorge, which is hidden in the rugged ranges of Queensland’s Central Highlands, was Roma, where I’d spent my twenty-first birthday looking unsuccessfully for a phone booth to ‘phone home’ to the UK. These days Roma is about the last spot – apart from the small town of Injune – where you can get mobile reception before you face the last narrow 150 kilometres of road liberally peppered with mining trucks, and the final 22 kilometres of dirt which take you into the gorge itself.

I hadn’t expected to see emus but as we reached the final stage of our 12-hour drive, there they were, a mob of them grazing on the sunlit plateau surrounded by the massive sandstone cliffs that are the only hint of the wonders to come. As we wended our way across the flat brown landscape with its cattle grids and creek crossings it seemed impossible to imagine that we were about to descend into one of the most varied and verdant landscapes in Australia, a place that is also home to some of the country’s most important and accessible Aboriginal rock art.

Just one of the massive eucalyptus trees that grow in profusion through the gorge.

It started simply enough, the odd palm dotted here and there, the plain giving way to folding hills, until almost imperceptibly the dusty beige and olive greens gave way to lush rainforest colours, with towering eucalypts, cycads, ferns and palm trees as far as the eye could see.

We had decided to camp in the National Park camping ground, next to the river and right at the start of most of the walking tracks. As we pitched our rooftop tent with the sounds of the river and a symphony of bird noise in the background, I couldn’t wait to start our bush-walking adventures. Walking is what the gorge is all about, and it’s the walks that attract approximately 65,000 visitors per year – many of them from overseas – to this relatively remote National Park.

Walking the river track through Carnarvon Gorge.

If I’d thought that the dusk symphony was loud it was nothing in comparison to the dawn chorus. The Gorge has populations of everything from Brolgas to Fairy Wrens including many birds on the endangered list. On the bird list were some species I’ve never heard of – the wonderfully named Bush Thick-Knees, the Buff-Rumped Thornbill and the Pallid Cuckoo just a few examples.

The 35-kilometre gorge was created by water erosion through the soft sandstone over millions of years, and with the riverbed as the main feature, it’s easy to follow the walks, which run off to the sides taking detours up into hills and gullies, revealing such natural wonders as the Aboriginal Rock Art Gallery, Ward’s Canyon, the Amphitheatre, the Moss Gardens, Cathedral Cave and Big Bend.

We decided to try and cover the first three of those on our first day out, which turned out to be a little ambitious for two Golden Oldies, but we managed to walk the 14km round trip in about six hours, and it was definitely worth a few arthritic twinges.

The Art Gallery: nature, beauty, history and humanity all in one place.

Our first stop was the furthest away – the Aboriginal Rock Art Gallery, about six kilometres away from base camp. It’s hard to describe the overwhelming feeling of standing in front of a wall of stencilled hands, many of the them children’s, and knowing that they date back thousands of years. These distant ochre messages from the past – with the constantly repeated themes of boomerangs, emus, kangaroos, and body parts, along with the patterns of carved vulvas – seem as fresh as the day they were made. Personally I would have loved to have had more written knowledge at the site on the Bidjara and Karingbal cultures, the main occupiers of the gorge prior to colonization. This site and also the one at Cathedral Cave, are of international archaeological and anthropological importance, with examples of stencilling techniques considered to be the most sophisticated kind in the world.

Our next stop was Ward’s Canyon, the most sheltered location in the gorge. Stepping from the bright sunlight into the dark, cool damp of the canyon I could see orchids and ferns growing around the rocks. I’d been told that the canyon was home to the extremely rare King’s Fern – one the largest and oldest ferns in the world, with fronds that grow up to five metres long and two metres wide, but it wasn’t until I’d got right to the top that their full magnificence was revealed – the cool, damp environment perfect for their survival. In fact so cool and damp is the canyon that it acted as a natural refrigerator, and is named after the Ward brothers, two fur trappers, who used it to store their bounty in the late 1800’s, when the Indigenous population were finally losing the battle to keep hold of their country.

A King Fern in Ward’s Canyon, and above, stones in the canyon’s trickling creek.

Our lunch stop was in another place of wonder – the Amphitheatre, a gigantic natural hole carved by water pressure over millions of years into the rock, which is only accessible by a series of steep ladders. The vegetation in the amphitheatre is up against it – torn literally from its roots by the irregular but massive floods that sweep through it (and through the entire gorge, taking out entire trees and parts of the river bank with them). It was impossible not to test out the natural acoustics…I was just glad there was no one else there to hear.

The Amphitheatre in the Gorge – impossible not to test the acoustics…

I spent the next few days in a state of bliss – doing the shorter walks along the river near the campsite, (on one of them I was kept company by a huge grey boomer), and the walks that started a short drive from the camp. Cold at night, it was warm and sunny during the day, and our few days there had the patina of perfection.

There was a wide variety of visitors – from groups of international backpackers, elderly couples (many of them birdwatchers), and families of all kinds, many with tiny children, who, even if they are not up to the more strenuous walks could easily enjoy the river walks near the camp, and the campsite itself. But despite the amount of us there, once we were on the tracks it wasn’t long before we were on our own again, and those moments were euphoric. It was easy to understand why the entire gorge was a sacred place to the Aborigines. With the combination of the art from centuries before, the bird noise, the flora and fauna, and the massive riverbed and cliffs, it’s hard to imagine a more impressive testimony to the power of nature.

Do yourselves a favour and put Carnarvon Gorge on the bucket list. You won’t regret it.

Getting there

Carnarvon Gorge is located 593km northwest of Brisbane, or 240km from Roma. You can travel there on a five-day Outback Explorer tour with Sunrover, drive (a 4WD is not necessary since once you get to the camp, you’ll be walking), or fly to Brisbane or Roma and hire a car, caravan or motor home. It took us 12 hours from Bangalow, in northern New South Wales to the camping ground.

Staying there

Visitors can camp at the National Park site, which is at the mouth of the gorge, but only open during Queensland school holidays; see https://www.nprsr.qld.gov.au/ or stay at the more up market Carnarvon Gorge Wilderness Lodge a few kilometres away; see https://www.carnarvon-gorge.com/ or at the larger Takarakka camping lodge with its mix of cabins, safari-style tents, caravan spaces and camping; see https://www.takaru.com.au/takaru/splashpage.cfm

More information

March – October are the peak season, and the best months for walking. Apart from a small store at Takarakka, there are no shops so stock up well on provisions, although Takarakka and the Carnarvon Gorge Wilderness Lodge both have cafes. The National Parks don’t recommend visits to the gorge in high summer, the Carnarvon Gorge Wilderness Lodge is closed during the off-season, and Takarakka is open all year round, although visitors during those times are warned to be careful of the heat, and also of the rains, which can bring flash flooding. Whatever the time of year take warm and cool clothing.

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Renowned for its history of social and political activism and as a haven for those seeking an alternative lifestyle, Nimbin is Australia’s original model for sustainable living, alternative therapies and nonconformist lifestyles, writes Gabby Watson.

Nimbin, it has to be said, doesn’t shy away from the real stuff of life and a walk down the main street can be a cultural eye opener. Cullen Street is a buzzing microcosm of local life where friendly dogs sprawl on the pavement, marijuana is sold openly and locals and visitors mingle in the alfresco cafes lined along the footpath. The vibrant streetscape, eccentric hippies and laid back musos are all part of the Nimbin experience.

It’s worth taking a walk along either side of the main street to admire the much photographed painted facades of Nimbin’s buildings where depictions of the alternative lifestyle of the locals, indigenous murals and the surrounding rainforest make for a striking streetscape. Cullen Street also offers an amazing array of cafes, galleries and craft shops. Perceptio Bookshop is a small nook crammed with a diverse array of reading on everything from tree houses to alternative health and esoteric texts. Next door, the Nimbin Artists Gallery stocks a high quality range of works from over 100 artists living in and around Nimbin. The gallery exhibits everything from paintings to sculpture, digital prints, glass, jewellery, ceramics, clothing, baskets and more. Established in 1998, Happy High Herbs was the first shop in the expanding Happy Herb Company franchise. Visitors can check out the large range of herbs for health, well-being, libido and fun and talk to the staff for help and advice in selecting the right products.

It’s all a question of perception at Nimbin’s Perceptio Bookshop.

One of the best reasons to visit Nimbin is for its comprehensive range of alternative therapies. Acupuncture, massage, reiki and reflexology are just some of the myriad treatments available to renew the mind and body. Or if it’s spiritual guidance you need, astrology, tarot or psychic readings are all practiced here.The Nimbin Community Centre is a hub for community and creative services and represents the diversity and dynamism of the locals. Operating from the Community centre, Artemis Medicinals offers naturopathic services, herbal dispensary, astrological consultations and practitioners of Kahuna, intuitive, and remedial Massage. Like many residents, owner Fiona Maunder tells me:  “I moved to the area 20 years ago drawn by the healthy, sustainable lifestyle and to practice naturopathy. With my partner we’ve raised children, gardens of herbs, vegetables, and subtropical fruits while living sustainably on solar power, and collected rainwater”. In supporting both the local and broader community, Fiona runs a Peoples Clinic on the last Monday of the month, is a volunteer for the One Health Organisation and stocks Traditional Indigenous Bush Balm products from central Australia out of her practice.

The Grasshopper Bus does a daily run from Byron Bay to Nimbin.

Nimbin markets are a great way to check out what the locals have on offer in the way of food, clothing and jewellery along with recycled, up-cycled and handmade arts and crafts. The diversity of food from Persian to pizzas, curries to coffee and more makes it worth the trip alone. Impromptu music performances take place throughout the day and are an expression of the musical diversity to be found in the area. Located in the grounds of the Nimbin Community Centre, the markets are held every 4th and 5th Sunday of the month.

The Nimbin Artist’s Gallery.

Elsewhere in town, the food is just as tempting. There are plenty of colourful cafes lining the street to choose from including The Hemp Bar and the always busy Oasis Café. A stalwart of the local food scene since it opened in 1991, Nimbin Pizza and Trattoria offers weekly specials plus a wide range of pizzas, pastas, seafood and desserts. Located in the Nimbin Hotel & Backpackers, The Hummingbird Bistro has alfresco dining with picturesque views of the valley from the balcony. The menu utilises locally sourced produce with free-range eggs, organic meats and daily specials. The restaurant is child friendly and has organic, vegetarian and vegan options.

When you’ve partaken of all that Nimbin has to offer you shouldn’t  miss the opportunity to view part of the local indigenous cultural landscape that is the Nimbin Rocks. Three kilometres south of Nimbin on the Lismore road and estimated to be over 20 million years old, the rocks hold special meaning for the local Bundjalung people where it is believed to have been a sacred initiation ground for boys making the transition into manhood. Due to their spiritual significance, the rocks are off limits to the public, however there is a viewing area beside the road where you can stop to take photos and admire the views.

Nimbin is a town that wears its heart on its sleeve. It’s a place of unique cultural expression and bohemian values where entrepreneurs mix with hippies and creativity abounds. Whether you come to decompress at a meditation retreat or have a beer with the locals at the pub, Nimbin’s landscape and lifestyle is sure to leave you captivated.

Photographs and story by Gabby Watson

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 The thing about a journey, they tell you in creative writing courses, is that they must have a beginning, a middle and an end, and the end can be particularly important writes Candida Baker.

So to put this column in context, how it began was with me coming up with what I thought was a wonderful idea – to take my 14-year-old daughter, often referred to (at least by me) as The Princess, on a holiday which would encompass a few days staying with her cousins on the Northern Beaches of Sydney, three nights in the Snowy Mountains, and a few nights back with her aunt and uncle in the inner city before heading back home.

“What do you mean?” she asked me in anguished tones, when I first mooted the idea. “Ten days away? From my friends. TEN days! MUM.”

It wasn’t quite the response I was expecting – I thought I might get the one where they throw their arms around you and say Mum, you’re simply the best, thank you so much… which is rare as hen’s teeth of course. But still I went with the flow and insisted that well, you know she might actually have a good time.

All went surprisingly well – Sydney had its most beautiful summer colours on, the cousins took us for a day trip to Palm Beach, a day’s shopping at Warringah Mall, and several mornings at the beach, so it was pretty much teenage girl heaven, so much so that she informed that she didn’t want to leave. “You NEVER give me enough time here,” she told me crossly. “Three nights just isn’t enough.”

But then there was even more bad news. It was, I informed her a five-and-a-half hour drive from Sydney to Lake Crackenback.   Now The Princess is never at her best early in the morning – and by early I mean 9.00 am – so it was a grumpy driving companion I set off with down the Highway of Life (otherwise known as the Hume Highway). “I am going to be SO bored,” she said, as we turned the corner from her aunt’s house. “I’ve got a headache.” Another thought, much worse, suddenly occurred to her. “What about my tan? Mum? ARE YOU LISTENING? What if it’s not sunny, and I go pale. I’ve got to go back to school with a tan.”   She slumped back into her seat, and stared out of the window. I decided discretion was the better part of valour, and kept quiet. “Why aren’t you talking to me?” she whined. I started a cheerful cascade of conversation. “You’re talking too much, my head hurts.” I bit my lip.

After an hour or so we got to oh yes, folks, I’m sorry to tell you, that purveyor of caffeine and hot chips, McDonalds – and I stocked up. I reckoned I was going to need it. I also bought The Princess a hot chocolate. I’m not sure if the McDonald’s staff could see the desperation etched on my face, but I’m pretty sure they slipped her a shot of caffeine, because within minutes of finishing her drink, she was on a roll. She put her hands either side of her face and stuck her face on the side window. “I’m getting rays,” she said. “Just in case.” She face-timed her BFF and gave her a tour of the car. “This is a glovebox,” she said gleefully, “this is a gearstick, this is a steering wheel…” The BFF put up with it valiantly until finally she invented another pressing engagement, and sensibly left the conversation.

“Oh My God…Mum…look out of the window. It’s snowing!” I glanced out of the car’s side window, and in the breeze the silver undersides of the shrubs lining the road did indeed look as if they had been dusted with snow. “It’s not snowing,” I said. “It’s just the leaves look white.”

“I’m sure it’s snowing,” she said.

I suggested that perhaps in order for there to be snow freezing temperatures had to occur somewhere and that was perhaps unlikely in the height of summer. “Oh,” she said, crestfallen. There was a moment’s quiet. “Do you think I’ll be able to get a tan in the mountains?”

I couldn’t help it. “Minus 20,” I said. “Your tan is a Minus 20 World Problem….”

Fortunately for both of us, somehow the hours had passed by, somehow we’d arrived at our destination. As soon as we were there she didn’t want to leave.

“I’m spiritually connected to this place,” she told me, gazing in awe at the mountains and the lake. “Do you think we could come and live here?  Why are we only staying here three nights?”

I gazed in equal awe at her. I suddenly thought of my mother, with four girls – all of us at one point self-obsessed teenagers at exactly the same time. No wonder she turned to whisky I thought. I wondered about the teenage brain – which seems to be able to live in the past, present and future simultaneously and still keep the important issues, like tanning, top of mind as they say.

It was a journey. It had a beginning. It had a middle and thank goodness it had an end. Well, a temporary one because there was another journey to come – the drive home. But I’ll spare you all and leave it to your imagination.

(Read next week’s issue of Verandah Magazine for my travel story on the Snowy Mountains in summer.)

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The Brisbane Cane Toads Scooter club was started in 1999 by Brent Collins, Adam Shields, Jason Elford, Brendon Hill, Laura Williams and Paul Cain. From those humble beginnings the club now has 222 members from all over the east coast of Australia – ranging from Brisbane, Sunshine coast and the Northern Rivers. Quite a high percentage of the club are ex-pats from Great Britain who have relocated to Australia and brought their beloved scooters with them.

“The thing about riding a scooter is that it’s a lifestyle, not a fashion accessory,” says Paul Cain, one of the original founders who rides a 1973 Lambretta GP250. Cain’s been been riding scooters for 30 years, and even before he relocated down under he was with a UK scooter club for 14 years.

Paul Cain, one of the founders of the Cane Toads, on his 1973 Lambretta GP 250.

The Cane Toad crew get together for a ride and a beer once a month around Brisbane and the Northern Rivers. They also have a national rally with ‘scooterists’ from all over Australia, and each state takes a turn in hosting the national rally. They also have three or four local weekender or overnight rallys.

A recent addition to the club is Wayne Norris.  Norris has been riding with the club for three years – he even joined the Cane Toads before he arrived in Australia from the UK.  I asked him what the appeal of scooters is over motorbikes, and he was quick with his response: “With scootering comes a certain lifestyle, the music, the dancing and the people. Its all part of a certain scene,”  he says. It’s a scene he knows well – he was only six when he embarked on his first scooter experience and by the time he was 11 he was desperate to be 16 just so he could buy his first scooter. Norris rides a Vespa 2000 PX200 and also has a Lambretta. Because of a previous accident he wears armour for maximum protection, but has no plans to stop. “Scootering is all about your mates and having a good time doing what you love,” he says.

Wayne Norris and his immaculate Vespa 2000 PX200

I was beginning to get the idea of the level of commitment these guys (men and women) have for their scooters.  I  asked my father, Martin Rapley, where he likes to ride, and he told me:
“Riding my scooter is my passion and I cannot think of a better destination than cruising along the east coast.”

Photographer Harlie Rapley’s father Martin, has been collecting patches for his jacket for years.

This 1965 150cc Super Vespa is John Bentley’s pride and joy – Bentley has been riding motor scooters for many years.

Tony Shirley has 12 scooters at home in his shed – this Vespa is one of them.

Dave Baker has had this rare 1968 Ducati Bro sittin in his shed for ten years. It’s rustic and he likes it that way…it enjoyed going for a spin…

John MacDonald’s Lambretta SX200

Anyone interested in becoming a member  is welcome to the club. The Cane Toads can be found on facebook under Brisbane Cane Toads Scooter Club.

Photography: Harlie Rapley

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